A few weekends ago, Father's Day to be exact, I attended a 3-on-3 soccer tournament that my 8-year-old son played in.
This was one of those full scale tourneys with all kinds of sponsorship tents dotting the landscape.
As is par for the course in these situations, free swag was to be had just about anywhere and everywhere and I decided that since I was up at the crack of dawn and had to work later in the day, that I would try a Vitaminenergy drink.
I'm no stranger to energy drinks.
Years ago when they first entered the market one of my newspaper colleagues and I decided we'd do a little "research" and sample these new beverages for a possible story.
At the time, none of them really grabbed a hold of me but if I had no access to coffee and needed a eye-opening jolt, I'd probably reach for a Red Bull.
Anyway, I'd had the vitaminwaters before - and although I wouldn't recommend them to anybody - I figured since I was in the middle of nowhere that their version of the energy drink would suffice in the pinch that I was in.
Pinch.
Remember that word.
When my wife saw that I had a cold beverage she asked for a sip and then asked where I got it. I told her they were free and pointed her to the company's tent. We both downed our drinks while waiting for my son's team to collect their medals.
They had won the tournament in a shootout with my son making the winning goal.
Talk about feeling some serious dad pride... or maybe it was the drink I just consumed.
At some point during the 45 minute ride home my bowels started to alert themselves to me that they needed attention. But unlike coffee and its shit-conducing factor, this wave quickly appeared to be one that I wasn't going to be able to hold back for very long (but I did make it home).
Once we arrived home I dashed in the door and made a bee line to the bathroom. As soon as I got my shorts down and relaxed did the stream of shit start. Actually, calling it "shit" would be a mistake as this was more like I turned on the faucet that my anus does indeed NOT have and listened to myself pee out my ass.
That's about the only way to explain it: I was peeing out my ass.
Phew.
Glad that that was over, I made my way to the couch to recover only to hear my wife go into the bathroom.
I spent the next several hours peeing out my ass much to my dismay, each time thinking, "I can't possible have any more in there can I?" and then proved wrong by my bowel-spitting butt.
I was about two shakes of a fig tree away from calling off work but I needed the money (because of that damn car thing) and decided to be a trooper and head off to work.
It probably was a good thing because it forced me to not think about my pissing anus as well as being a good exercise in butt clenching.
Not only could I not think about even touching food, just looking at water conjured up memories of peeing out my ass. Yet it was almost one hundred degrees and I was working outside with visions of dehydration dancing in my head.
Alas, I made it out of my shift alive and without having to spray my colon into some stranger's tiolet and I did choke down some carbs as we cleaned up.
The next day my wife said she had the same problem and we both deducted that it had to have been a result of those drinks.
Vitaminenergy... don't say I didn't warn you.
